The Most Interesting Stories of All Nations

J >> Julian Hawthorne >> The Most Interesting Stories of All Nations

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"No, because it would have reflected dishonor on the Roumin name."

"You are a chivalrous man, Decurio!"

"I am what you are; I know your character, and the same feeling
inspires us both. You love your nation, as I do mine. Your nation
is great and cultivated; mine is despised and neglected, and my
love is more bitterly devoted. Your love for your country makes
you happy; mine deprives me of peace. You have taken up arms to
defend your country without knowing your own strength, or the
number of the foe; I have done the same. Either of us may lose, or
we may both be blotted out; but though the arms may be buried in
the earth, rust will not eat them."

"I do not understand your grievances."

"You do not understand? Know, then, that although fourteen
centuries have passed since the Roman eagle overthrew Diurbanus,
there are still those among us--the now barbarous people--who can
trace their descent from generation to generation, up to the times
of its past glory. We have still our traditions, if we have
nothing more; and can point out what forest stands in the place of
the ancient Sarmisaegethusa, and what town is built where one
Decebalus overthrew the far-famed troops of the Consulate. And
alas for that town! if the graves over which its houses are built
should once more open, and turn the populous streets into a field
of battle! What is become of the nation, the heir of so much
glory?--the proud Dacians, the descendants of the far-famed
legions? I do not reproach any nation for having brought us to
what we now are; but let none reproach me if I desire to restore my
people to what they once were."

"And do you believe that this is the time?"

"We have no prophets to point out the hour, but it seems yours do
not see more clearly. We shall attempt it now, and if we fail our
grandchildren will attempt it again. We have nothing to lose but a
few lives; you risk much that is worth losing, and yet you assemble
beneath the banner of war. Then war. Then what would you do if
you were like us?--a people who possess nothing in this world among
whom there is not one able or one instructed head; for although
every third man bears the name of Papa, it is not every hundredth
who can read! A people excluded from every employment; who live a
miserable life in the severest manual labor; who have not one noble
city in their country, the home of three-fourths of their people.
Why should we seek to know the signs of the times in which we are
to die, or be regenerated! We have nothing but our wretchedness,
and if we are conquered we lose nothing. Oh! you did wrong for
your own peace to leave a nation to such utter neglect!"

"We do not take up arms for our nation alone, but for freedom in
general."

"You do wrong. It is all the same to us who our sovereign may be;
only let him be just towards us, and raise up our fallen people;
but you will destroy your nation--its power, its influence, and
privileges--merely that you may live in a country without a head."

A loud uproar interrupted the conversation. A disorderly troop of
Wallachians approached the Decurio's house, triumphantly bearing
the hussar's csako on a pole before them.

"Had I left you there last night, they would now have exhibited
your head instead of your csako."

The crowd halted before the Decurio's window, greeting him with
loud vociferations.

The Decurio spoke a few words in the Wallachian language, on which
they replied more vehemently than before, at the same time
thrusting forward the kalpag on the pole.

The Decurio turned hastily round. "Was your name written on your
kalpag?" he asked the young man, in evident embarrassment.

"It was."

"Unhappy youth! The people, furious at not having found you, are
determined to attack your father's house."

"And you will permit them?" asked the youth, starting from bed.

"I dare not contradict them, unless I would lose their confidence.
I can prevent nothing."

"Give me up--let them wreak their bloody vengeance on my head!"

"I should only betray myself for having concealed you; and it would
not save your father's house."

"And if they murder the innocent and unprotected, on whom will the
ignominy of their blood fall?"

"On me; but I will give you the means of preventing this disgrace.
Do you accept it?"

"Speak!"

"I will give you a disguise; hasten to Kolozsvar and assemble your
comrades,--then return and protect your house. I will wait you
there, and man to man, in open honorable combat, the strife will no
longer be ignominious."

"Thanks, thanks!" murmured the youth, pressing the Decurio's hand.

"There is not a moment to lose; here is a peasant's mantle--if you
should be interrogated, you have only to show this paszura,* and
mention my name. Your not knowing the language is of no
consequence; my men are accustomed to see Hungarian gentlemen visit
me in disguise, and having only seen you by night, they will not
recognize you."

* Everything on which a double-headed eagle--the emblem of the
Austrian Government--was painted, engraved or sculptured, the
Wallachians called paszura.

Imre hastily took the dress, while Decurio spoke to the people,
made arrangements for the execution of their plans, and pointed out
the way to the castle, promising to follow them immediately.

"Accept my horse as a remembrance," said the young man, turning to
the Decurio.

"I accept it, as it would only raise suspicion were you to mount
it; but you may recover it again in the field. Haste, and lose no
time! If you delay you will bring mourning on your own head and
disgrace on mine!"

In a few minutes the young man, disguised as a Wallachian peasant,
was hastening on foot across the hills of Kolozsvar.

It was past midnight.

The inhabitants of the Bardy castle had all retired to rest.

The iron gate was locked and the windows barred, when suddenly the
sound of demoniac cries roused the slumberers from their dreams.

"What is that noise?" cried Jozsef Bardy, springing from his bed,
and rushing to the window.

"The Olahok!"* cried a hussar, who had rushed to his master's
apartments on hearing the sounds.

* Olah, Wallachian--ok, plural.

"The Olah! the Olah!" was echoed through the corridors by the
terrified servants.

By the light of a few torches, a hideous crowd was seen before the
windows, armed with scythes and axes, which they were brandishing
with fearful menaces.

"Lock all the doors!" cried Jozsef Bardy, with calm presence of
mind. "Barricade the great entrance, and take the ladies and
children to the back rooms. You must not lose your heads, but all
assemble together in the turret-chamber, from whence the whole
building may be protected. And taking down two good rifles from
over his bed, he hastened to his elder brother Tamas's apartments,
and overlooked the court.

Have you heard the noise?" asked his brother as he entered.

"I knew it would come," he replied, and coolly continued to pace
the room.

"And are you not preparing for defense?"

"To what purpose?--they will kill us all. I am quite prepared for
what must inevitably happen."

"But it will not happen if we defend ourselves courageously. We
are eight men--the walls of the castle are strong--the besiegers
have no guns, and no place to protect them; we may hold out for
days until assistance comes from Kolozsvar."

"We shall lose," replied Tamas coldly, and without the slightest
change of countenance.

"Then I shall defend the castle myself. I have a wife and
children, our old grandmother and our sisters are here, and I shall
protect them, if I remain alone."

At that instant Barnabas and old Simon entered with the widowed
sister.

Barnabas had a huge twenty-pound iron club in his hand; grinding
his teeth, and with eyes darting fire, he seemed capable of meeting
single-handed the whole troop.

He was followed by the widow, with two loaded pistols in her hand,
and old Simon, who entreated them not to use violence or exasperate
the enemy.

"Conduct yourselves bravely!" replied the widow dryly; "let us not
die in vain."

"Come with me--we shall send them all to hell!" cried Barnabas,
swinging his club in his herculean arm as if it had been a reed.

"Let us not be too hasty," interrupted Jozsef; we will stand here
in the tower, from whence we can shoot every one that approaches,
and if they break in, we can meet them on the stairs."

"For Heaven's sake!" cried Simon, "what are you going to do? If
you kill one of them they will massacre us all. Speak to them
peaceably--promise them wine--take them to the cellar--give them
money--try to pacify them! Nephew Tamas, you will speak to them?"
continued the old man, turning to Tamas, who still paced up and
down, without the slightest visible emotion.

"Pacification and resistance are equally vain," he replied coldly;
"we are inevitably lost!"

"We have no time for delay," said Jozsef impatiently; "take the
arms from the wall, Barnabas, give one to each servant--let them
stand at the back windows of the house, we two are enough here.
Sister, stand between the windows, that the stones may not hit you;
and when you load, do not strike the balls too far in, that our aim
may be the more secure!"

"No! no!--I cannot let you fire," exclaimed the old man,
endeavoring to drag Jozsef from the window. "You must not fire
yet--only remain quiet."

"Go to the hurricane, old man! would you have us use holy water
against a shower of stones?"

At that instant several large stones were dashed through the
windows, breaking the furniture against which they fell.

"Only wait," said Simon, "until I speak with them. I am sure I
shall pacify them. I can speak their language and I know them all--
just let me go to them."

"A vain idea! If you sue for mercy they will certainly kill you,
but if you show courage, you may bring them to their senses. You
had better stay and take a gun."

But the old man was already out of hearing, and hurrying
downstairs, he went out of a back door into the court, which the
Wallachians had not yet taken possession of.

They were endeavoring to break down one of the stone pillars of the
iron gate with their axes and hammers, and had already succeeded in
making an aperture, through which one of the gang now climbed.

Old Simon recognized him. "Lupey, my son, what do you want here?"
said the old man. "Have we ever offended you? Do you forget all
that I have done for you?--how I cured your wife when she was so
ill, and got you off from the military; and how, when your ox died,
I gave you two fine bullocks to replace it? Do you not know me, my
son Lupey?"

"I am not your son Lupey now; I am a 'malcontent!'" cried the
Wallachian, aiming a blow with a heavy hammer at the old man's
head.

Uttering a deep groan, Simon fell lifeless to the ground.

The rest of the party saw the scene from the tower.

Barnabas rushed from the room like a maddened tiger, while Jozsef,
retiring cautiously behind the embrasure of the window, aimed his
gun as they were placing his uncle's head upon a spike, and shot
the first who raised it. Another seized it, and the next instant
he, too, fell to the earth; another and another, as many as
attempted to raise the head, till, finally, none dared approach.

The widow loaded the guns while Tamas sat quietly in an armchair.

Meanwhile Barnabas had hurried to the attic, where several large
fragments of iron had been stowed away, and dragging them to a
window which overlooked the entrance, he waited until the gang had
assembled round the door, and were trying to break in; when lifting
an enormous piece with gigantic strength, he dropped it on the
heads of the besiegers.

Fearful cries arose and the gang, who were at the door, fled right
and left, leaving four or five of their number crushed beneath the
ponderous mass.

The next moment they returned with redoubled fury, dashing stones
against the windows and the roof, while the door resounded with the
blows of their clubs.

Notwithstanding the stones which were flying round him, Barnabas
stood at the window dashing heavy iron masses, and killing two or
three men every time.

His brother meanwhile continued firing from the tower, and not a
ball was aimed in vain. The besiegers had lost a great number, and
began to fall back, after fruitless efforts to break in the door,
when a footman entered breathless to inform Barnabas that the
Wallachians were beginning to scale the opposite side of the castle
with ladders, and that the servants were unable to resist them.

Barnabas rushed to the spot.

Two servants lay mortally wounded in one of the back rooms, through
the windows of which the Wallachians were already beginning to
enter, while another ladder had been placed against the opposite
window, which they were beginning to scale as Barnabas entered.

"Here, wretches!" he roared furiously, and, seizing the ladder with
both hands, shook it so violently that the men were precipitated
from it, and then lifting it with supernatural strength, he dashed
it against the opposite one, which broke with the force of the
weight thrown against it, the upper part falling backwards with the
men upon it, while one of the party remained hanging from the
window-sill, and, after immense exertions to gain a footing, he too
fell to the earth.

Barnabas rushed into the next room grinding his teeth, his lips
foaming, and his face of a livid hue; so appalling was his
appearance, that one of the gang, who had been the first to enter
by the window, turned pale with terror, and dropped his axe.

Taking advantage of this, Barnabas darted on his enemy, and
dragging him with irresistible force to the window, he dashed him
from it.

"On here! as many as you are!" he shouted furiously, the blood
gushing from his mouth from the blow of a stone. "On! all who wish
a fearful death!"

At that instant, a shriek of terror rose within the house.

The Wallachians had discovered the little back door which Simon had
left open, and, stealing through it, were already inside the house,
when the shrieks of a servant girl gave the besieged notice of
their danger.

Barnabas, seizing his club, hurried in the direction of the sounds;
he met his brother on the stairs, who had likewise heard the cry,
and hastened thither with his gun in his hand, accompanied by the
widow.

"Go, sister!" said Jozsef, "take my wife and children to the
attics; we will try to guard the staircase step by step. Kiss them
all for me. If we die, the villains will put us all in one grave--
we shall meet again!"

The widow retired.

The two brothers silently pressed hands, and then, standing on the
steps, awaited their enemies. They did not wait long.

The bloodhounds with shouts of vengeance rushed on the narrow stone
stairs.

"Hah! thus near I love to have you, dogs of hell!" cried Barnabas,
raising his iron club with both hands, and dealing such blows right
and left, that none whom it reached rose again. The stairs were
covered with the dead and wounded, while their death cries, and the
sound of the heavy club, echoed fearfully through the vaulted
building.

The foremost of the gang retreated as precipitately as they had
advanced, but were continually pressed forward again by the members
from behind, while Barnabas drove them back unweariedly, cutting an
opening through them with the blows of his club.

He had already beaten them back nearly to the bottom of the stairs,
when one of the gang, who had concealed himself in a niche, pierced
him through the back with a spike.

Dashing his club amongst the retreating crowd, he turned with a cry
of rage, and seizing his murderer by the shoulders, dragged him
down with him to the ground.

The first four who rushed to help the murderer were shot dead by
Jozsef Bardy, who, when he had fired off both his muskets, still
defended his prostrated brother with the butt-end of one, until he
was overpowered and disarmed; after which a party of them carried
him out to the iron cross, and crucified him on it amidst the most
shocking tortures.

On trying to separate the other brother from his murderer, they
found them both dead. With his last strength Barnabas had choked
his enemy, whom he still held firmly in his deadly grip, and they
were obliged to cut off his hand in order to disengage the
Wallachian's body.

Tamas, the eldest brother, now alone survived. Seated in his
armchair he calmly awaited his enemies, with a large silver
chandelier burning on the table before him.

As the noise approached his chamber, he drew from its jeweled
sheath his broad curved sword, and, placing it on the table before
him, proceeded coolly to examine the ancient blade, which was
inscribed with unknown characters.

At last the steps were at the door; the handle was turned--it had
not even been locked.

The magnate rose, and, taking his sword from the table, he stood
silently and calmly before the enemies, who rushed upon him with
fearful oaths, brandishing their weapons still reeking with the
blood of his brothers.

The nobleman stood motionless as a statue until they came within
two paces of him, when suddenly the bright black steel gleamed
above his head, and the foremost man fell at his feet with his
skull split to the chin. The next received a deep gash in the
shoulder of his outstretched arm, but not a word escaped the
magnate's lips, his countenance retained its cold and stern
expression as he looked at his enemies in calm disdain, as if to
say, "Even in combat a nobleman is worth ten boors."

Warding off with the skill of a professed swordsman every blow
aimed at him, he coolly measured his own thrusts, inflicting severe
wounds on his enemies' faces and heads; but the more he evaded them
the more furious they became. At last he received a severe wound
in the leg from a scythe, and fell on one knee; but without
evincing the slightest pain, he still continued fighting with the
savage mob, until, after a long and obstinate struggle, he fell
without a murmur, or even a death-groan.

The enraged gang cut his body to pieces, and in a few minutes they
had hoisted his head on his own sword. Even then the features
retained their haughty, contemptuous expression.

He was the last man of the family with whom they had to combat,
but more than a hundred of their own band lay stretched in the
court and before the windows, covering the stairs and rooms with
heaps of bodies, and when the shouts of triumph ceased for an
instant, the groans of the wounded and the dying were heard from
every side.

None now remained but women and children. When the Wallachians
broke into the castle, the widow had taken them all to the attics,
leaving the door open, that her brothers might find refuge in case
they were forced to retreat; and here the weaker members of the
family awaited the issue of the combat which was to bring them life
or death, listening breathlessly to the uproar, and endeavoring,
from its confused sounds, to determine good or evil.

At last the voices died away, and the hideous cries of the
besiegers ceased. The trembling women believed that the
Wallachians had been driven out, and, breathing more freely, each
awaited with impatience the approach of brother--husband--sons.

At last a heavy step was heard on the stairs leading to the garret.

"This is Barnabas's step!" cried the widow, joyfully, and still
holding the pistols in her hand, she ran to the door of the garret.

Instead of her expected brother, a savage form, drunken with blood,
strode towards her, his countenance burning with rage and triumph.

The widow started back, uttering a shriek of terror, and then with
that unaccountable courage of desperation, she aimed one of the
pistols at the Wallachian's breast, who instantly fell backwards on
one of his comrades, who followed close behind. The other pistol
she discharged into her own bosom.

And now we must draw a veil over the scene that followed. What
happened there must not be witnessed by human eyes.

Suffice it to say, they murdered every one, women and children,
with the most refined and brutal cruelty, and then threw their dead
bodies out of the window from which Barnabas had dashed down the
iron fragments on the besiegers' heads.

They left the old grandmother to the last, that she might witness
the extermination of her whole family. Happily for her, her eyes
had ceased to distinguish the light of sun, and ere long the light
of an eternal glory had risen upon them.

The Wallachians then dug a common grave for the bodies, and threw
them all in together. The little one, whom his parents loved so
well, they cast in alive, his nurse having escaped from the attics
and carried him downstairs, where they had been overtaken by the
savages.

"There are only eleven here!" cried one of the gang, who had
counted the bodies, "one of them must be still alive somewhere--
there ought to be twelve!" And then they once more rushed through
the empty rooms, overturning all the furniture, and cutting up and
breaking everything they met with. They searched the garrets and
every corner of the cellars, but without success.

At last a yell of triumph was heard. One of them had discovered a
door which, being painted of the same color as the walls, had
hitherto escaped their observation. It concealed a small apartment
in the turret. With a few blows of their axes it was broken open,
and they rushed in.

"Ah! a rare booty!" cried the foremost of the ruffians, while, with
bloodthirsty curiosity, the others pressed round to see the new
victim.

There lay the little orphan with the golden hair; her eyes were
closed and a death-like hue had overspread her beautiful features.

Her aunt, with an instinctive foreboding, had concealed her here
when she took the others to the attic.

The orphan grasped a sharp knife in her hand, with which she had
attempted to kill herself; and when her fainting hands refused the
fearful service, she had swooned in despair.

"Ah!" cried the Wallachians, in savage admiration, their
bloodthirsty countenances assuming a still more hellish expression.

"This is a common booty!" cried several voices together.

"A beautiful girl! A noble lady! ha, ha! She will just suit the
tattered Wallachians!" And with their foul and bloody hands, they
seized the young girl by her fair slight arms.

"Ha! what is going on here?" thundered a voice from behind.

The Wallachians looked round.

A figure stood among them fully a head taller than all the rest.
He wore a brass helmet, in which a deep cleft was visible, and held
in his left hand a Roman sword. His features bore the ancient
Roman character.

"The Decurio!" they murmured, making way for him.

"What is going on here?" he repeated; and seizing the fainting girl
in the arms of a Wallachian, he ordered him to lay her down.

"She is one of our enemies," replied the savage insolently.

"Silence, knave! Does one of the Roumin nation seek enemies in
women? Lay her down instantly."

"Not so, leader," interrupted Lupey; "our laws entitle us to a
division of the spoil. This girl is our booty; she belongs to us
after the victory."

"I know our laws better than you do, churl! Due division of spoil
is just and fair; but we cast lots for what cannot be divided."

"True, leader: a horse or an ox cannot be divided, and for them we
cast lots, but in this case--"

"I have said it cannot, and I should like to know who dares to say
it can!"

Lupey knew the Decurio too well to proffer another syllable, and
the rest turned silently from the girl; one voice alone was heard
to exclaim, "It can!"

"Who dares to say that?" cried the Decurio; "let him come forward!"

A young Wallachian, with long plaited hair, confronted the Decurio.
He was evidently intoxicated, and replied, striking his breast with
his fist: "I said so."

Scarcely had the words escaped his lips, than the Decurio, raising
his left hand, severed the contradictor's head at one stroke from
his body; and as it fell back, the lifeless trunk dropped on its
knees before the Decurio, with its arms around him, as if in
supplication.

"Dare anyone still say it can?" asked Numa, with merciless rigor.

The Wallachians turned silently away.

"Put the horses immediately to the carriage; the girl must be
placed in it, and brought to Topanfalvo. Whoever has the good
fortune of winning her, has a right to receive her as I confide her
to you; but if anyone of you should dare to offend her in the
slightest degree, even by a look or a smile, remember this and take
example from it," continued the Decurio, pointing with his sword to
the headless body of the young man. "And now you may go--destroy
and pillage."

At these words the band scattered right and left, the Decurio with
the fainting girl, whom he lifted into the carriage and confided to
some faithful retainers of the family, pointing out the road across
the hills.

In half an hour the castle was in flames and the Wallachians,
descending into the cellars, had knocked out the bottoms of the
casks, and bathed in the sea of flowing wine and brandy, singing
wild songs, while the fire burst from every window enveloping the
blackened walls; after which the revelers departed, leaving their
dead, and those who were too helplessly intoxicated to follow them.

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